


nouveau dèpart

by kami (slowburnsunsets)



Series: oumasai AUs [3]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Adopting A Dog Together, Adopting a Kid Together, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - No Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Moving In Together, Oma Kokichi Being Oma Kokichi, Running Away, Starting Over, Train Hopping, Wedding References, i havent written a kiss scene in like 2 years im so sorry LMAO, kokichi-typical lying, slight kidfic, the angst is barely existent but its there i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowburnsunsets/pseuds/kami
Summary: Ouma promises himself for years that he'll run away. On the day he finally does so, he finds himself in a chase.(or, the AU where saihara catches ouma when he's leaving and end up running away together.)
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Series: oumasai AUs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671091
Comments: 26
Kudos: 244





	1. don't go where i can't follow

**Author's Note:**

> im hoping to make this a short and sweet fic, aaa. also i apologize if all the interruptions in parenthesis and dashes are intrusive! i just always imagined ouma's mind as something constantly moving with a lot of concurrent thoughts invading one another, so i tried my hand in attempting to capture that, haha.
> 
> i like to think of [this song](https://youtu.be/3hA67tm4sTI) as the background feeling for this work^^
> 
> hope you enjoy !!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the six times Ouma promises to himself that he'll eventually run away, and the final time he actually does go through with it.

_don't try to follow me. i would hold you down if i could._

_make you the enemy. i would let you down._

— 

The first time Ouma thinks about running away, he's seven years old and ducking into an alleyway to hide behind the litter inside it.

He listens to the whispers of the other kids on the street, the ones that gossip about the latest news on the block. There's a rumor going around that someone's managed to pick the lock of a nearby corner shop and snag a few things from it. Ouma doesn't stay to listen to them, though, as he scatters through more dark and narrow pathways, carrying a small plastic bag filled with things that everyone knows some orphaned street kid can't afford — for starters, enough food to not starve.

He thinks he'll stay around here just a little longer, only because the places around here are a lot easier to sneak into and take from than in the nearby cities.

— 

The second time he thinks about running away, he's nine years old and scrambling up the fence of somebody's backyard to escape the wrath of a few guard dogs that dare to chase after him. Which? Really _annoying_ , because all he was doing was using the yard as a shortcut. Jokes on them, though, because Ouma's too nimble and fast for them to catch him in time. Ha, take that! There's no way anyone can catch him, 'cause he's Ouma Kokichi! It's he himself against the world! So serves those dogs right for trying to go after him (he's _not_ disappointed that the dogs didn't take a liking to him, okay? He's not! He's just . . . not very happy about it. It's not like he really, really, really likes animals anyway, alright?)!

He sticks his tongue out at the aggressive hounds once he reaches the top of the fence. After a murmur of something about "not very good boys" under his breath, Ouma hops down to safety on the other side and continues on his original path.

He thinks he'll stay around here just a little longer, only because he's not stupid nor naïve enough to think that a nine-year-old can skip towns on his own without running into some perilous danger (and it's _not_ because he's hoping to maybe find a smaller, less aggressive, owner-less stray dog around here, okay??). 

— 

The third time he thinks about running away, he's eleven years old and sitting underneath a tree. One of his newfound subordinates (he deigns to not use the term 'friend' because if he does, then that means he has ties to the area, and if he has ties to the area, he has roots here, and thus a reason to stay here, so 'friends' are a no-go) sits beside him. But Mayumi-chan has never been much of a talker, so his company is offered with silence, which Ouma is grateful for.

Ouma's thoughts are pushed aside when Hokama and Minori approach him with their newest findings from scavenging. With everyone in their little group pitching in to search for resources and necessities, they've racked up a decent supply of things to keep them going. It's not as much as many other kids their ages may have, but to them it may as well be their entire world. He congratulates them in his usual style of 'I'm-Lying-But-Not-Really', and then they join the others in managing a way to use their newfound not-the-best-but-it's-good-enough little portable gaming console that they discovered in a relatively abandoned junkyard. As they try to figure it out, they all listen to Ouma's stories. Ouma doesn't mention the fact that most of his tales are just that — tales, lies. But his subordinates don't mention the fact that they know he's lying either. They don't mind anyway; they've always liked his stories.

He thinks he'll stay around here just a little longer, only because he's not so much of a dick that just he'd leave all of his subordinates (read: the closest thing he has to a family) behind without a goodbye first.

— 

The fourth time he thinks about running away, he's thirteen years old and laughing as he and D.I.C.E. run away from their latest prank (a rather harmless one, really, though a tad bit annoying if anything), choosing not to stick around long enough to get caught.

He thinks he could handle it, running away and starting over somewhere else in Japan — it's not that hard now, even if he's still smaller and considerably less filled out or as strong as most kids his age. It's not like he would have to worry too much about D.I.C.E. either. They have one another and can very much take care of themselves. And aside from them, it's not like there's anyone who would miss him if he just up and left (there might be a few people who would notice, but they're really just his frequent prank victims, who would probably be relieved if his gags suddenly stopped if anything).

He thinks he'll stay around here just a little longer, only because he needs to make sure he's right about his assumptions, and that they will indeed be fine without him.

— 

The fifth time he thinks about running away, he's fifteen years old and sitting alone on a park bench. He's sent his group on another "mission" (read: scoping out one of the nearby _onsen_ and messing with the tourists that visit) so that he'll have time to think to himself. But the longer he thinks about it, the more he's compelled to give into his instincts and make it easier on everyone if he runs away — it wouldn't be so hard to villainize himself . . . right? If D.I.C.E. saw him as someone who was a—a monster, they would be fine if he left, and they wouldn't be sad, right? Lying his way out of it — that could work, and then no one would get hurt . . .

His eyes catch attention on a boy walking down the street, clothed in shadows and carrying polite wariness in every ounce of his movements. He's tall and pale, and in the barely noticeable way he walks with a slight drag to his steps and posture, seemingly tired. Ouma wonders what the boy looks like without that emo hat on his head.

He thinks he'll stay around here just a little longer, only because this boy is the first person —save for his subordinates— in a long time to not shoo or chase Ouma away even after his barrage of pestering and questions and teasing scattered amongst his introduction to the stranger (plus he's discovered that the boy has very soft grey eyes and a shy smile, and okay fine, Ouma thinks he's just a little nice to look at, alright?).

— 

The sixth time he thinks about running away, he's sixteen years old and laying on the rooftop of an old abandoned warehouse in the city, looking at the stars.

He hardly flinches when the fire escape creaks with age as someone climbs up it. When he glances over to see who it is, his eyes meet those same nice-to-look-at grey eyes and that same damned nice-to-look-at soft smile. Ouma doesn't have to ask how Saihara (Saihara Shuichi, that's the name the boy had introduced himself as a year ago. Ouma thinks it sounds neat, the way it just rolls off his tongue, also thinks his own given name sounds neat attached to Saihara's name, but he never mentions that last part) has managed to find him in this undisclosed location during the middle of the night; he knows that Saihara may not admit it, but he's got a talent for figuring things out.

This time, though, he thinks he can't stay around for any longer, only because every passing moment he spends with D.I.C.E. and Saihara, he's given more reason to stay, he's made more of a deadweight to everyone else should he leave (he'll never admit it, but he thinks he'll miss these moments with Saihara the most).

— 

Ouma is seventeen years old when he finds himself running away.

His heart fills with a myriad of contradicting emotions as he makes his way to the train station — regret, relief, guilt, excitement, longing, closure. Every corner he turns, he turns in fear of running into one of his reasons not to do this, turns in readiness to lie his way out of his roots keeping him here. Each shadow shifts under the sun, changes as he moves past everything around him. He can't tell which feeling of either sorrow or determination is greater, each breath he takes either poisoned or purified.

He's almost there, though. Almost, almost, almost! Just there at that train station down the street lies his ticket to freedom! Ah, he can taste it already! It's just like that one song sung by that one Disney princess — the one who was always parading about freedom, what was her name again?

Man, maybe he should have paid more attention to those movies his subordinates would play on their old, little television in their main hideout. He was always too focused on dragging Saihara along with them to actually give much thought to what they were watching. He'd spent a lot of time convincing Saihara to believe his lies ("But Saihara-chaaaaan! I have terrible, aching back problems! You're just gonna let me sit against the hard wall? That's so mean! C'mooooon, can't you let me use you as a human pillow? It's just a little huddling! Are you just a prune or something?") and let him lean against him when they did go and try to view the movie.

Speaking of Saihara! Oh man, he can't wait to get to tell him all about this, getting to emphasize all the little details and stretch the truth a bit to make the story even more interesting. He can already imagine Saihara's reactions, his eyes widening in fascination and pupils dilating in concern, face scrunching up in disbelief and smile turning upwards in amusement. Then he'll ask (as per usual) if Ouma's okay, check for bruises or scratches or anything like that, and give him advice to be more careful or to just go to him the next time he needs help instead of getting into trouble alone by himself and—

And—

—And he can't anymore. Because he's running away. Because he's leaving everything behind. Because he can't keep promising it to himself and then putting it off, like living some lie. Because he doesn't want to keep lying to D.I.C.E. Because he doesn't want to drag Saihara down with him. Because every waking moment he stays in this town, he's just reminded of the li(f)e he's living, of the actual blood family he doesn't have, of the weight of the world he carries with him.

So, he can't tell Saihara any of it.

Well, that's a bit undesirable . . . but it's for the best. It's better this way, better for both of them—

"Ouma-kun!"

—crap.

—no!!

—nonono!!!!!!!!!!

"Ouma-kun, wait!"

_Don't listen, Kokichi! Be strong!!!_

"Ouma-kun! I know you're just ignoring me! Wait, wait!"

Goddammit, okay, okay, fine! But only because Saihara is taller than Ouma by quite a bit, therefore meaning it's a useless attempt to try and outrun him when he takes much longer strides and moves at a faster pace with ease. It's not because he's already missing him, alright? And he's definitely not lying! What a tragedy, really . . . Ouma's just reached the front of the train station too . . .

"Nishishi, oh? Is that Saihara-chan? I couldn't hear you!" Ouma turns around and watches the taller boy catch up in front of him.

Saihara wears a skeptical expression as he responds, "You could definitely hear me."

"Huuuuh? I totally could not! I'll have you know, I have a very rare medical condition that affects me and makes me very hard of hearing! Is Saihara-chan accusing me of lying?" Ouma starts to cry his Definitely Real Tears.

"Yes," Saihara answers without missing a beat or changing his expression, "you brag about being able to hear things from a mile away, which is another lie, but I _have_ seen you react to the smallest of noises, so I know you could definitely hear me."

"Awww, does that mean Saihara-chan's been paying super duper close attention to me then? Nishishi, you're making me blush," Ouma teases.

Saihara's face flushes slightly at the accusation. "I just know you're good at listening out and sneaking around, is all."

"Wow, Saihara-chan's complimenting me so much today! How did you know I enjoy praise oh-so-very-much?" Ouma preens.

Saihara's eyes squint a bit, like he's trying to decipher whether Ouma's lying about that piece of information or not. His face does turn to a deadpan, however, when he then admits, "I just know you have the skills of a petty thief."

"Heyyy, that's so meaaaan! Saihara-chan's gonna make me cry! Is that your plan, you monster? Do you secretly enjoy my suffering?" Ouma pouts in a fit of exaggerated lying.

Saihara's expression doesn't change from the serious look, though. In fact, he goes silent for a minute or two, and it starts to send Ouma into a slight internal panic as he feels his fight-or-flight response wanting to kick in. Saihara's next words don't help his feelings. ". . . Why are you leaving?"

Ouma wasn't joking about the fight-or-flight response thing though, because his instincts kick in almost immediately after a moment of surprise, and in his burst of go-to reaction, he lies, "Nishishi, I'm not leaving! Non non, how did you ever get that idea?" (which, now he's realizing after he's said it, is a pretty damn stupid lie considering he's literally standing right in front of the train station. But it's not his fault his backup lie was dumb! It was just his defense mechanism kicking in before actually consulting with his brain, damn it).

Despite Ouma's teasing, Saihara's seriousness doesn't let up. "Ouma-kun, you can't lie about this, not to me."

". . . Okay, I'm leaving. So what?"

"'So what'? 'So _what_ '? You're just gonna—gonna leave and disappear out of nowhere? Without even telling me?" Saihara's hands fail and gesture around a bit, a sign Ouma recognizes as a habit Saihara does when he's frustrated.

"Uhh, if I recall, Saihara-chan's not my parent; I don't have to run things by you." Ouma doesn't want to do this to Saihara, but he has to — _needs_ to. Needs to make him not care about his abrupt leaving. Needs him to get angry and forget about him. Needs him to move on. Needs him to _hate_ him, because it's easier this way for both of them, even if it hurts.

"I didn't say tha—"

"—Or is Saihara-chan so full of himself he thinks that I have to go to him for permission?" He's grateful that he's spent most of his life as an enthusiastic liar. He's grateful he knows how to put on a show.

"Don't do this, Ouma-kun."

"Do _what_ , Saihara-chan?"

"This!" Saihara gestures towards the space between them. "I know what you're doing! You're—you're just trying to antagonize yourself! You need me to leave you alone, so you're _trying_ to upset me!"

Ouma raises an eyebrow in challenge, though he does slowly start to inch away. "Well, you certainly do seem upset, don't you?"

"Yes, I'm upset! But not at you!" Saihara yelps, grasping Ouma's wrist. It's not a harsh grasp, because that's not in his nature, but it is a firm enough grip that Ouma can't bail on their argument. "I'm upset that you're actively _trying_ to frusrate me!"

"And how do you know that, huh?" Ouma tells himself to keep going, because Saihara may be smart but he's gotta be smarter. " _Huh_? Because you're Mr. Know-It-All now? 'Cause you just always have the answers, don't y—"

"—Because I _know_ you!"

Ouma stops trying to struggle his wrist out of Saihara's grasp. He looks him directly in the eyes, both of them frustrated but for different reasons, stuck on two sides of the same coin.

When Ouma doesn't take the initiative to continue the conversation, Saihara does instead. With a shaky inhale to calm down, he admits, ". . . Because I know you, Ouma-kun. Because I know you don't like cleaning. I know that your favorite season is summer because of the _Hanabi_ festivals. I know that your least favorite chore is—is dusting because y-your allergies act up and—and you end up sneezing a lot. I know that you always cringe during t-the crime documentaries we watch. I know that—that you like _shounen_ mangas b-because you always st-stare at them through the display windows of the stores. I k-know that—that—"

Saihara's voice grows less stable as he rambles on, his eyes burning with tears and ears stinging from the rush of the blood flow. His grip on Ouma softens as he chokes out his words between cries, but the smaller boy doesn't make any attempt to escape the situation.

"—I know th-that—" Ouma knows Saihara grows exhausted and heavy quickly when he cries, so he braces himself to bear his weight against his shoulder when Saihara does indeed collapse forward into him, "—you m-make yourself th-the bad guy when you're—you're backed into a corner. I—I know th-that you lie when you're sc-scared and—and I'm scared too.”

The street around them is empty surprisingly, despite it still being early noon and both of them are standing right in front of the station. The wind feels like it clogs against his breath. He can't tell if it's the anxiety pushing down on his chest or his heart speeding like it's going to burst out or even the weight of Ouma's shoulder against his own as he tiredly wraps his arms around the smaller boy.

His voice isn't loud or frustrated anymore. It's just quiet. Tired. "And . . . and you're were going to leave . . . without saying . . . goodbye."

It stings. It stings a lot, actually. Because Ouma already knows the extensive damage behind his choice, and then hearing the full selfishness of it be said by Saihara? Yeah, it hurts a whole damn lot.

He wants to say sorry, wants to tell him about every promise he's made to himself about leaving. He wants to trust him, but he just can't. Because he's running away. Because he's still lying. Because Saihara is right, and he is afraid. He's terrified, because he's still a teenager. He's supposed to be in a home with his parents and not-always getting along with his brother and be living a normal life. But he's not, and he can't. He has to leave. Has to leave and go and lie and no matter how badly he wants Saihara to understand him, he can't allow it — it's better for both of them this way, even if it hurts.

Ouma doesn't realize he hasn't said anything nor returned the hug for the past few minutes until Saihara says something again. His words come out muffled against the cloth on Ouma's shoulder. ". . . I'll go after you."

The weight of Saihara's words take a moment to settle in the thick tension filling the air, and when it does finally settle, they hit Ouma like a truck. He searches the admission for a lie hidden somewhere, silently praying he hears doubt in Saihara's tone. But he doesn't, and that makes him feel even worse. Because somewhere deep down, his heartbeat quickens at the confession, at the thought of being considered someone worth chasing after regardless of how difficult he may be. Because somewhere deep down, those words make him feel safe, like it's _okay_ to drop his mask and quit his facade, and it's not. He can't, not after he's spent his whole life putting everything and everyone worlds away by spitting out lies. He can't. He can't, he can't, he can't. Can't because he just can't bring himself to trust everything. Can't because he doesn't understand any of this. Can't because Saihara makes him feel safe and he doesn't know what he's supposed to feel or do about it.

How _is_ he supposed to feel about it? It's new and it's foreign and it's strange and Ouma doesn't like it.

Except he kinda does. And that doesn't make it any less confusing. Or absolutely terrifying.

Ouma slowly —and reluctantly— shakes his head. "Saihara-chan's really gone crazy. Have you caught the Mad Hatter Disease?"

"I'm . . . I'm being serious, Ouma-kun," Saihara murmurs. He inhales slowly, and eventually pulls back a bit. His eyes are glossy and puffy, his face all red and tear-stained from crying. But regardless of his current unsteady state, Saihara takes both of Ouma's hands in his own and intertwines his fingers together.

"But—"

"—Ever since that day . . . y-you trailed after me, some random stranger—! And you bothered me until—until I couldn't stand it. You poked and prodded and teased me to all ends . . . but I couldn't . . . even stay mad for so long, because you would make me laugh and . . . and I just couldn't understand you. For hours, you'd get stuck in my head and I just—just couldn't figure you out at all," Saihara admits.

Because he makes Ouma feel safe and he doesn't know what to do about it or how to feel—

"I thought you would get bored of me eventually . . . but you didn't. You were so enigmatic and yet you never changed. And I still don't get you. I don't, and I can't . . . can't imagine just leaving it like that. That's why I want to go with you. Even if you say no and still try to frustrate me, I'm still going to go after you. Just like that day, when you first followed me and refused to leave me alone. I'm doing the same. I'll go after you, even if you refuse. I . . . I won't give up on you." 

Because Ouma can't and he won't and he really, really shouldn't—

". . . How does Saihara-chan plan to do that, then?"

Saihara's expression is cloudy, unreadable and unclear. Despite his face having softened from his crying, his expression remains serious — determined.

"I'll run away with you."

—and then it blurs together. And in one small weak moment, he thinks he knows what he's feeling.

Ouma's face lights up in revelation, and he finds himself bursting into a sprint, pulling Saihara behind him.

He can't and really, really shouldn't and he knows it — knows it and does it anyway, takes Saihara's hand and yanks him along, shares the rush of running away and being pursued through their fingertips, allows the lies and promises and burdens he's carried with himself for years to pass through them and move on, hopes that the euphoria swelling in his chest reaches Saihara, finally lets himself put the safety and the warmth and the understanding of what he's feeling into his soul and unto Saihara's.

"Ouma-kun! What are you d—"

"Saihara-chan said he wants to run away with me, riiiiight? Then come on! We're gonna miss the train, you slowpoke!"

The two of them weave through the small crowds of people waiting for their trains and scramble through the waves of those getting off of their stops. Alas, just as they near the entrance to their train, the doors close and the train takes off. Both of them heave and cough from forcing out the energy in their lungs during their sprint, watching as the train disappears into the distance and their hands let go of one another.

"Ouma-kun—I-I'm sorry," Saihara wheezes out, "I wasted our—our time and now we—we've missed our train."

"Non non, Shumai! I'm always prepared. Come on!"

Ouma hurries over to a side entrance to the station, stopping right inside it as he peers over his shoulder and waits for Saihara to follow him. The sunlight from outside feels warm as it pours into the doorway, serving as an outer glow surrounding Ouma as he stands there with one foot inside and the other outside. The sunlight almost feels as warm as the feeling welling inside his chest, he thinks — it feels nice.

"Hold on, Ouma-kun!" Saihara exclaims, lingering a few feet further inside the station, "I was checking the train schedules before I came here. That's why I barely caught up to you. That was the last train leaving Izu, and the station'll be out of service for the next few days over maintenance. How else are we supposed to leave?"

"Where there's a will, there's a way! And besides, I have a backup plan!" Ouma assures, holding out his hand towards him, "so, is Saihara-chan coming with me or not?"

Ouma finds himself grinning widely as Saihara's face settles with a resolved smile, taking Ouma's smaller hand in his own. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;; ouma's implied to be an orphan / didn't have a v good home life based off some of his lines (and his actions during one of his utdp scenes)
> 
> ;; "the last train leaving izu" — izu, shizuoka is the city where ouma lives most of his life before running away / where he meets saihara in this story^^
> 
> ;; " _hanabi_ festivals" — firework festivals known as _hanabi_ ( 花火 — translation :: firework ) are celebrated during the summertime in japan
> 
> ;; ouma's implied to enjoy some popular _shounen_ series in his ftes
> 
> ;; "one of the nearby _onsen_ " — izu, shizuoka is known for their _onsen_ resorts
> 
> ;; ouma's skills have been referred to as skills resembling "a petty thief"
> 
> ;; since we never got the canon names of the dice members, i just used some of my oc's names haha
> 
> ;; "don't try to follow me. i would hold you down if i could. make you the enemy. i would let you down" — ( song ) © 'the enemy' by andrew belle


	2. to the ends of the earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the six times Saihara asks himself a question, and the one time he finally gets his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in this chapter! i've been busy trying to prepare for saiouma week^^
> 
> im revamping an old acc of mine and trying to be more active, so [come scream about saiouma with me on twitter!](https://twitter.com/slowburnsunsets)

_but i'd follow you to the great unknown, off to a world we call our own._

_—_

The first time Saihara thinks about what it's like to fall for someone, he's seven years old and slipping into a chair at the dinner table. It's his designated spot, or at least, it would be if his parents were there to take the other seats.

Off to the side meanders about the house workers — the maids and the butlers setting his plate of food down, passing hushed murmurs between one another regarding his parents (or rather, the absence of them). He doesn't pay too much attention to what their saying, though, not having an interest in gossip, especially if it involves his parents.

He thinks he'll wait a little longer to think about what it's like to fall for someone, only because he's really young and the thought of it fills him with both anxiety and indifference.

—

The second time he thinks about what it's like to fall for someone, he's nine years old and sitting on the edge of his bed. The noises of laughter and hollers coming from outside his window catch his attention, drawing the little boy to it until he peers out.

He watches a few neighborhood children run around, preforming lopsided cartwheels and bursts of tag, the occasional kid tripping and falling (at the sight of their tumble, Saihara can't help but cringe at the thought of getting a scrape). As he stares a little longer, another child joins them, this one leading along a small dog on a leash. Thanks to their short attention spans, the children drop everything they're doing and fawn over the dog.

He thinks he'll wait a little longer to think about what it's like to fall for someone, only because one of the kids spots his peeking and waves at him, prompting him to recoil back into his bedroom; he's pretty sure you have to be able to socialize to _some_ degree in order to develop feelings, after all.

—

The third time he thinks about what it's like to fall for someone, he's eleven years old and meticulously (or at least, as meticulous as a child can be) folding his clothes. He packs them away with care into his suitcase, throwing in a few extra things to keep him entertained while he's gone.

The leave isn't supposed to be for very long, he's been told, just long enough for him to stay with his uncle and aunt during the holidays. He has to admit, he's a tad bit excited, having never left Izu before. They live in Tokyo, just a few hours away, and according to the clock on the wall, they should be arriving soon to pick him up (part of him is also excited because seeing them means actually getting some semblance of feeling homey).

He thinks he'll wait a little longer to think about what it's like to fall for someone, only because he ends up cooping himself up in the guest room of his aunt and uncle's house with a cold case file (that he stumbled across in the drawer of the nightstand) on Christmas Eve.

—

The fourth time he thinks about what it's like to fall for someone, he's thirteen years old and laying on the floor of his parents' old study. The rug underneath him is actually incredibly uncomfortable, but the alternative is to move and he's really just too tired to be bothered.

Eventually though, rather than laying there and collecting dust like an abandoned vase in an attic, Saihara does indeed get up when a few books topple onto the floor for no apparent reason (it is _not_ a ghost; Saihara refuses to believe that. There's _some_ reasonable explanation . . . he just doesn't have one yet. But when he does have one, he'll be assured! Because ghosts aren't real! Right—?). Upon further inspection, he finds that most of them are mystery novels with the exception of one, the outlier being an over-the-top-definitely-not-meant-for-him romance novel and oh, God, _please_ do not tell him that this book belonged to his mother or his father.

He thinks he'll wait a little longer to think about what it's like to fall for someone, only because he'd really just prefer to read the mystery novels instead of the romance novel (please, please, please erase the memory of it from his mind!!!).

—

The fifth time he thinks about what it's like to fall for someone, he's fifteen years old and walking down a path through a park. It's a route he's been down a hundred times, a quick and safe way from his house to a nearby store. Therefore, he zones out as he moves, going on by memory.

He fails to notice the stranger scrambling up behind him, only seeing him once a small hand is waving around in front of him. Said hand belongs to a smaller boy with a Grinch-after-having-just-come-up-with-the-idea-of-stealing-Christmas smile and hair that defies all logic. The stranger only offers two things about himself (that Saihara believes are actually true): "My name's Ouma Kokichi!" and "—but don't worry about all that. It was a lie after all! Y'know, 'cause I'm a liar."

He thinks he'll wait a little longer to think about what it's like to fall for someone, only because he finds it really hard to concentrate when there's someone poking your shoulder every so often and bombarding you with hundreds of questions that really make him reconsider some things.

—

The sixth time he thinks about what it's like to fall for someone, he's sixteen years old and inviting (read: bargaining with) Ouma to join him at his school's _bunkasai_. Ouma, however, is not having it.

His biggest success in this whole situation is getting Ouma close to the front gates of the campus, but that's about it. Just when it feels like Ouma is teetering between joining him or not, someone calls out Saihara's name from the distance. He recognizes the voice belonging to a friend of his, and the shout is followed up by a few more voices all belonging to his friends. Ouma's quicker than him to react, however, easily fabricating a lie about why he can't: "Aww, but Saihara-chaaaaaan! Your friends look totally boring. They're definitely way too slow for me. Come find me when there's something _actually_ fun going on." Saihara doesn't even get the chance to point out that for the past week, Ouma's been nothing but excited to run around and see Saihara's school, because the liar is already running off and he's being dragged away by his friends.

This time, though, he thinks he can't wait a little longer to think about what it's like to fall for someone, only because as each day passes, he feels like the opportunity to understand slips further and further from his grasp.

—

Saihara is seventeen years old when he realizes what it's like to fall for someone.

The entire world feels like it constricts in a second when the DICE members tell him the news — his heart rattles against his ribcage, burning and aching like it'll burst out if he makes one wrong movement. The pit welling inside his chest only grows when one of them pulls him aside to explain further; he hardly listens to Mayumi, everything he hears and sees blurring into one massive haze.

His thoughts filter around so fast and urgently in his mind that it nearly feels like a headache. But through all the when's and how's and what's filling his head lies one unperturbed thought: _I have to find him._

He throws everyone a hastily-said goodbye, nearly stumbling over himself in an effort to leave the warehouse that's become DICE's headquarters. Once he steps outside and gets a a few meters away, however, a grip on the edge of his sleeve stops him. It's Maiko, one of the younger members. When Saihara first met her, he was surprised to see someone so quiet be involved in a group like theirs. It took her a long time to warm up to him, usually staying near Ouma or the others when Saihara visited them. Now, though, she reminds him of something like a little sister.

"Saihara-kun . . . ?" she still tugs on his sleeve.

His mind is still moving so fast that it takes a moment to register what's actually going on. "Ah—um, Maiko-chan?"

". . . I know you'll be able to find Onii-san," she murmurs.

"I hope so," Saihara admits, "I—I don't know what to do if I _do_ find him."

"I think you will know . . . I think you'll realize something." She takes his hand and places something in his palm. ". . . When you do, please take care of him. And be safe."

"Wait, Maiko-chan—!" She's already disappeared back into the warehouse, though, leaving him to check out what she's given him.

When he opens his hand, a small piece of crumpled up paper rests in it. On it is quickly written handwriting: **12時に修善寺駅**

He thanks Maiko internally, sprinting away to Shuzenji Station. It's almost noon, and if he wants to get there by noon, he'll need to run the fastest he's ever run in his life. As he runs, he pulls out his phone and quickly checks the station schedule. His only focus remains on finding Ouma. Finding him and asking him why. No—he doesn't need to ask him why. He just needs to find him.

—

"Awww, but going back ruins all the fun!"

"It's just to grab a few things." Saihara leads Ouma along, their fingers intertwined (he tries not to think too much about their hand-holding because if he does, he doesn't know if he'll be able to stay calm). "You didn't grab anything to take with you?"

"Heyyy, it was a spur of the moment kinda thing," Ouma defends, swinging their arms back and forth.

When they arrive back at Saihara's house, he feels the tension rise throughout Ouma's body. He considers questioning Ouma on his obvious discomfort, but decides against it. Questioning it pushes Ouma into a corner, and pushing him into a corner causes him to play his hand, and his hand is always to lie. So questioning is a no-go.

Ouma's refusal to enter the house becomes more obvious when he digs his heels into the ground. The action yanks Saihara back a bit with him, but the liar's face remains smiling as if to soften his actions.

"I can sense aaaaall the dust in that house. You already know about my _alleged_ allergies—" because God forbid that Ouma ever tell the complete and honest truth, "—so are you just trying to turn me into a sneezing fit? Is that your true goal, Saihara-chan? Hmm? Death by allergic reaction?"

Saihara shakes his head and tries again to guide Ouma with him. The liar only defies more so.

"Are you suuuuuure you don't have something to hide in your home?" Ouma asks casually, "cuz everyone's got secrets, y'know. Even unsuspecting Saihara-chan!"

Saihara, because he's a people-pleaser at heart, sighs and lets go. "I'll be back." As he enters his house, he can't help but think about Ouma's refusal. Now that he thinks about it, there were a lot of times Ouma actively lied to get out of things that had to do with other daily parts of Saihara's life. But why . . . ?

He takes a bag from his closet and starts to grab things for their departure, pondering these newfound revelations.

—

"Ouma-kun, are you _sure_ this is safe?"

"Of course it is! C'mon, do I ever lie to you?"

"Yes. All the time. Everyday. Consistently."

"Saihara-chan's so mean!"

Saihara's heart pounds as the two of them stand on the side of a railroad, the steep drop of a hill behind them. Down the rail he spots a freight train approaching. He grips the bag (containing food, clothes, and money) closer to him, choosing to focus on that rather than the impending doom of falling from that height or the impending doom of the oncoming freight train.

"Are you ready?" Ouma questions.

"No—!" Saihara can't fathom why he's doing this, even more so, why he's _willing_ to do this. He must be going crazy, right? He has to be, to actually be willing to do something as extreme as this. "Aren't you scared?"

"Nope! I'm the leader of a super-secret organization, remember! I've done waaaay dangerous things!" Ouma exclaims, "besides, I'm super fit! I can run whole marathons!"

"It's getting closer," Saihara comments, brushing aside Ouma's lies.

The train comes at them fast, quickly passing them up a bit before they start running along the side. A boxcar with both doors on each side open comes closer. The two of them throw themselves (and the bag) into the box and tuck themselves safely inside as they gasp for air.

Saihara coughs a bit as he sits up. "We—did it!"

"Nishishi, all—according to plan—!" Ouma wheezes in victory.

They take a moment to catch their breath, sitting in silence. Saihara makes his way to the front side of the boxcar that faces the edge of the hill.

Because of their detour to Saihara's house as well as catching up ahead of the train, most of the day has gone by. The sky filters in with streams of melted gold and puddled tangerine, the clouds settling with heavy exhaustion. The land below is washed in a lemon-like haze, the field below the drop that's littered with honeysuckles and purple lilacs appearing yellow as opposed to green. Surrounding the lower field is a shield of healthy trees, tall and overbearing. Past them lies the ocean, usually cerulean in the day but marigold under the sunset.

Saihara can't help but stare. Generally speaking, he's been outside of the Shizuoka Prefecture — always had to leave it when he would stay with his aunt and uncle. But he's only ever travelled via the backseat of his uncle's old car when they drove out to their place. When he was in the city, it was just train to train if he ever went sightseeing (not that he left the house much when he did visit anyway, too busy helping his uncle with cases to go see much). He's never seen the real landscape of Izu when traveling, let alone look at it from the inside of a boxcar. It's gorgeous, he thinks.

"Is Saihara-chan planning on jumping out and leaving me?"

Saihara throws a glance over his shoulder. "You think I would do that?"

Ouma crawls over to Saihara's side, sitting down on the edge and letting his legs dangle in the air. "Who knows?" He grins at him.

"What would I even do if I _did_ go back?" Saihara asks, mostly to himself.

"Dunno," Ouma offers with a nonchalant shrug, "go lick the dust in your house or something."

The casual tone Ouma uses easily causes Saihara to wonder if he's actually serious or just messing with him. Regardless, the two of them remain like that: sitting in silence, watching the scenery pass them by.

There's so many things running through Saihara's whole body, so overwhelming and busying that it's hard to concentrate. His mind repeats the questions he keeps asking himself over and over again, looping like a broken record. When his head isn't hurting from overthinking, it's his body that gives way for a strange feeling. Waiting for something. Trying to _figure out_ something. Adrenaline courses through his limbs in heavy pace, excited. He doesn't really understand it. Excited, but for what?

He tries calming himself down, running through scenarios in his head. Doing what he does best and breaking apart the feeling piece by piece and putting it together like some big puzzle. He imagines this whole situation — running away, chasing dreams from city to city across Japan (or at least as far as they can get with their limited resources), leaving each sight they see behind hand-in-hand . . . finding some place to go together . . . starting over with one another . . . their whole lives ahead of them and finding their future side by side . . . ah—when did his heart start beating so fast?

Without taking much time to think, he inquires, "Ouma-kun?"

"Hmm?"

"Why did you decide to run away?"

Ouma's eyes never avert to meet his, only staring forward. "Why did Saihara-chan follow me?"

Saihara feels his face burn slightly at the question, not really wanting to discuss _his_ reasons behind his answer. He doesn't even really have an answer, actually. He doesn't even understand it. What is he supposed to say? " _I can't imagine going back to life the way it was before without you, so much so that I'd rather leave and risk everything to join you. Kinda crazy, isn't it? Anyway, what food should we eat on our first pitstop? I'm thinking onigiri,_ "?

He doesn't know what he's feeling, why he's feeling it, or how he's supposed to handle it. He can't fathom why he's here now, doing this. He's supposed to be feeling nervous right now, right? He should be panicking and questioning everything. He should be worried. Should be scared out of his mind—

—but he's not. When he thinks he is, he just looks at Ouma, and feels like he's never been more ready in his life.

And he doesn't get why.

"Helloooooo? Are you ever gonna answer me? Or are you just gonna sit here while I age to death waiting on you?" Ouma calls out.

"Ah—I, um, I just . . ." Saihara searches for his next words carefully, settling on dancing around the real answer just enough to get by without Ouma calling out a flat-out lie, ". . . I was just concerned, is all."

Ouma snorts. "Shumai's a really bad liar."

"No I'm not—!" Saihara defends.

"You totally are." Ouma folds his arms behind his head as he lays down on his back. "No one would agree to run away with someone if they were _just_ concerned. So Saihara-chan is lyyyyyiiiiiinnnnng."

Saihara sighs and sits down, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. He huffs slightly, feeling as though he's being teamed up on by Ouma and his own emotions at the same time. Eventually, he says, ". . . My parents were never there that often."

Ouma doesn't say anything, so Saihara continues. "It was always just me and the house workers. They weren't very friendly, so it was pretty lonely. When I got older, I stopped having them come around." If his parents noticed the change in pay going out, they never acknowledged it.

He doesn't really know if he should be pouring his heart out right now (not that it would really even matter, considering he's already bared his soul to Ouma once earlier that day), but he's already come this far, right?

Still, he doesn't understand what he's feeling or supposed to say. The words come tumbling out of him in a flow, just spitting out everything he's feeling in hopes that he finds a point somewhere. Hoping that maybe his endless ramblings will find their string's end and tie up together nicely. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, if he can get everything out, it'll start to make sense.

"It was always so quiet. You wouldn't even be able to stand it," Saihara gives a bitter laugh, "but when I was with you, it was _never_ quiet. It was always fast and loud and fun. I never wanted those moments to end. I never felt like that with anyone else."

"Felt what?" Ouma asks before he can stifle his curiosity, looking up at him.

Saihara's eyes dart around. "Alive," he admits, "every time I'm with you, it's like I can't think straight. It's like life moves ten times faster, and every moment I'm waiting for the next thing to happen. I can't help but want to figure you out . . . understand who you are and _why_ I feel like that."

He leans backwards until he's lying on his back, his legs dangling off the boxcar's edge like Ouma's. "When I heard you were running away . . . I didn't know what to do." He turns his head to face Ouma. "I just wanted to find you."

Ouma blinks, expression distant and wide like he's processing everything he's just heard. His lack of response allows Saihara a moment to think, and his face flushes at his ramblings. But before he can really start to panic, Ouma speaks up again.

"I never knew Saihara-chan was such a romantic! I'll bet that you've got a secret stash of romance books or something back at your house, huuuuh? Or maybe you've even snuck a few with you in that bag!" Ouma turns his head forward to face up at the ceiling and closes his eyes, smiling. "To think, Saihara-chan loves me enough to follow me to the ends of the Earth!"

Saihara nearly throws himself right out of the boxcar at Ouma's words. Instead, though, he settles for tensing up and internally panicking.

Is that what this is? Is that what he's feeling? He loves Ouma?

If his mind wasn't already fried before, it kicks into overdrive now. He recalls everything — each time when his heart stuttered when he held Ouma's hand, when his heart raced each time Ouma insisted on using him as a pillow during DICE's movie nights, when his mind nearly scrambled each time he managed to receive the tiniest detail of Ouma's past, when he couldn't sleep and ended up stay awake for hours just laying in bed and trying to decipher him.

"Nishishi, just kidding! You should see your face—"

Saihara finds himself pulling Ouma closer to him, needing to see if this is what he's feeling, needing to figure it out in the small fracture of time that Ouma allows him to see the truth. This time he's not going to let Ouma put another hundred walls made of lies between them.

Ouma stiffens at his sudden touch, eyes flying open to look at Saihara and figure out what he's doing — permitting a single moment of vulnerability, freezing up and allowing himself to be guided to hover over Saihara. The taller boy recognizes the significance of this instance, knowing it's a much larger feat for Ouma to let this happen. Past each joke and flirt Ouma may say lies a layer of heavy isolation, a little corner where no one can enter or see into. Meant for him only. Saihara knows this.

He needs to let Ouma know that _he_ knows what he's feeling. Needs to let him know that he was right, that he really is willing to follow him to the ends of the Earth. Needs to let him know that he means it all. Needs to let him know that he's willing to chase him for the rest of his life.

Needs to let him know that he loves him.

Carefully, Saihara raises his hand to Ouma's face above his and cups his cheek. He waits a few seconds to allow Ouma to let him or not. His face isn't a grin anymore. It's just wide-eyed and stunned. But regardless, he does indeed move down with Saihara's hand until their lips meet.

Saihara's whole body feels like it's on fire, every cogwheel in his mind freezing and every thought in his head jumbling. His heart palpitates as Ouma's body slowly relaxes from its tensed state, a sign of trust.

The kiss isn't frenzied or panicked or anything of the sort; it's soft and sweet — chaste declarations being made without being said and promises solidified without any words. A slow dance with honey on every edge. And after a few seconds, both of them pull away.

Neither of them know what to say, or if there's anything to be said at all. So instead they settle for something simpler: Ouma's head resting on Saihara's chest, listening to his heart beat, and Saihara holding him close. There they lay as a clumped and jumbled mess with the train still moving and sunlight pouring onto them with warmth, a warmth that can't really compare to the warmth inside Saihara's heart right now.

He tries to search through his mind for any trace of doubt, swimming through the tar of his thoughts to see if he finds any regret hidden somewhere. Cracks open the slivers of his heart and listens to the rhythm, digging around for the smallest hint of objection — but nothing. No sorrow for leaving the too-quiet and too-lonely house behind, no remorse for stowing away in this freight train, no fear of what's supposed to come next.

He finds no regret anywhere.

Instead, Saihara finds the answer to something he's been wondering about for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ; ( 3rd memory ) — christmas eve is considered a couple's holiday in japan
> 
> ; honeysuckles — in hanakotoba, honeysuckles represent devotion // purple lilacs — in hanakotoba, purple lilacs represent first love
> 
> ; "lick the dust in your house" — ouma's line from l.a.t.u.
> 
> ; _bunkasai_ ( 文化祭 ) — japanese :: translates to "cultural festival" ( a festival that jp schools host to show the artistic achievements of the students )
> 
> ; 12時に修善寺駅 — i believe it translates to "shuzenji station at 12 o'clock" but im still learning japanese so PLEASE correct me if im wrong!!
> 
> ; "but i'd follow you to the great unknown, off to a world we call our own" — tightrope © michelle williams ( song )
> 
> ; i had maiko refer to ouma by the older brother honorific bc my fav hc is dice treating each other like family and i love them <3
> 
> —please forgive me for taking so long to get this out! aaaa it's so bad too,, i need more practice in writing from saihara's pov haha. anyway, i'll see you all in the last chap and hopefully (if i can get them out on time) my saiouma week entries!!


	3. my home is with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the six times saihara & ouma look for home + the one time they finally realize they’ve been at home the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter!! sorry it’s so bad i didn’t have time to edit & revise it!! but aside from that, if you want to, feel free to request some prompts for me to write for saiouma in the future🙏
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/slowburnsunsets)

_the trouble, it might drag you down. if you get lost you can always be found._

_just know you’re not alone, ‘cause i’m gonna make this place your home.  
__

The first time Saihara and Ouma look for home, they’re fifteen years old and sneaking out at night to explore an empty building, much to Saihara’s hesitance.

It’s old and dusty, filled with abandoned boxes and forgotten furniture. Despite it, a sneezing-fit Ouma is exploring around and convincing Saihara to knock down cobwebs for him (because he’s totally not afraid of spiders, okay? He’s just testing Saihara’s bravery!)

They both think they’ll wait a little longer to look for home, only because this place is so unclean and aged and definitely not suited for a super-secret hangout spot.

—

The second time Saihara and Ouma look for home, they’re seventeen years old and knocking on the door of Saihara’s aunt and uncle’s home.

Normally, it wouldn’t have taken more than an hour or so to get from Izu to Tokyo, yet Ouma was rather insistent on sightseeing around neighboring cities so their trip ended up taking three days (if you ask Saihara, though, he thinks seeing Ouma smiling throughout every train ride was worth it). Regardless, Saihara’s uncle welcomes them inside upon answering and seeing his nephew.

They both think they’ll wait a little longer to look for home, only because Saihara’s aunt and uncle are hospitable and insist they stay until they get settled into the new city—plus, his aunt thinks Ouma’s insistence of Saihara making him _miso soup_ everyday for the rest of their lives is rather adorable.

—

The third time Saihara and Ouma look for home, they’re eighteen years old and entering their newly rented apartment.

Ouma collapses onto the floor, spouting a few lies about totally enjoying sleeping on the ground, to which Saihara humors as he sits down beside him. Their voices echo as they talk, the lack of things to fill the space of the empty room deafening. It goes on for hours, far until the windows across from them turn dark with nighttime and two empty takeout plates sit on their _kotatsu_ , the only belonging of theirs that they’ve managed to set up—neither of them mind, though, as they dance around slowly in each other’s arms to the tune of music playing from Saihara’s phone.

They both think they’ll wait a little longer to look for home, only because while they may not stay in this place for forever, it’s nice enough.

—

The fourth time Saihara and Ouma look for home, they’re twenty-one years old and standing on the lawn of their newly bought house.

It had taken a lot of searching around to find a place that suited them just right, and by that, they mean a _lot_ of searching. But finally, they had found this house. The two of them get to work carrying boxes into the house from the moving truck, unpacking their things in each room.

They both think they’ll wait a little longer to look for home, only because they’re both too busy deciding where and how to arrange the furniture.

—

The fifth time Saihara and Ouma look for home, they’re twenty-three years old and sitting at a table filled with prepared meals and servings of cake for their reception, some of the friends they’ve made over the years in Tokyo dancing to the music in the background.

Their fingers intertwine with one another underneath the table, the shine of their wedding rings glistening underneath the lights. Their friends pass by their table, congratulating them and wishing them the best for their marriage. The newlyweds thank them until they’re both being pulled to the dancefloor to join the others.

They both think they’ll wait a little longer to look for home, only because the music is so loud and they can’t focus on anything but one another and the smiles on their faces.

—

The sixth time Saihara and Ouma look for a home, they’re twenty-five years old and opening the door to let their new pet in.

The hyperactive scraggly-haired canine bolts inside and scrambles around, barking and sniffing each room until it’s been thoroughly explored. The dog—who’s been deemed Checkers—pounces on their bed, to which Saihara starts to shoo him off, only to be interrupted by a Ouma’s arms squishing his torso and a plea to let Checkers sleep on their bed (and look, Saihara’s only human, alright! It’s not easy to say no while being stared down by two pairs of puppy eyes).

They both think they’ll wait a little longer to look for home, only because they occupy themselves with Checkers, Ouma rubbing the stray’s stomach and Saihara laughing at the new revelation of his husband being a dog lover (which later in retrospect, much to the detective’s near heart attack, winds up being a sign for the liar also having a soft spot for young, orphaned beings—and thus, prompting them to eventually adopt an overactive, curious-as-cat, imaginative eight-year-old little girl a year later).

—

Saihara and Ouma are twenty-seven years old when they realize they’ve found home.

Ouma is rummaging through a box he found stored in their closet, hidden underneath pairs of shoes and folded stacks of clothing. He dumps out all the contents onto the floor, searching through them.

It’s a few old belongings of theirs—Checker’s old dog collar before it was replaced by a new one, one of Saihara’s journals that he kept to jot down clues he could find on cases before it ran out of space, a few little trinkets and souvenirs that Ouma had gotten during their travel through Japan ten years ago, a few little drawings that should really be considered as scribbles from Kimiko.

Underneath all the other stuff is another book, bigger and thicker than Saihara’s old journal though. It’s worn down and stiff from being tucked away for a while. 

When he opens it, the first page has kanji written in big letters right in the center—光陰矢の如し。

Underneath the title are Saihara and Ouma’s names, each signed by them. There’s a date written too, but the liar doesn’t pay too much attention to it.

He flips to the next page. Two photos are taped, each of them getting its own individual page to itself. They have dates scribbled down underneath the photos, and on the rest of their respective pages is more kanji that details the day in better perspective.

The first two photos captures their fifteen-year-old selves, Ouma pulling Saihara into the shot. Apparently, it’s from the first summer after meeting one another. Ouma likes to think he can clearly remember this day, and if asked, he’ll definitely say he does without missing a beat, but in reality, it’s a bit foggy in his mind (curse his memory, damn it).

The next photo is a group photo, one of DICE and Ouma huddled together with their smiling faces too close to the camera.

He grins as his fingers run along the paragraph written underneath the photo before he flips to the next page. It carries on like this, the pads of his fingers pressing against each character written, against each memory captured and pasted on.

His eyes glaze over the folded edges and crinkled surfaces, the scent of stiff paper and dried ink, the small little timeskips amongst each new photo he turns to. 

A hand rests on Ouma’s shoulder, gently squeezing. Saihara comes to kneel down beside him, looking over at the scrapbook. 

“Ah, I forgot about this . . .” Saihara murmurs. His free hand moves to caress the current page.

“It’s ‘cause you’re so old, Shumai.” The liar pinches Saihara’s face. “You’re totally forgetting everything.”

“We’re the same age,” Saihara reminds with a sage hum, “and you’re older than me.”

“If I’m old, then that means Shuichi has to take care of meeee,” Ouma is quick to add, flashing him a smile.

“I already _do_ take care of you,” the detective reminds, his hand rising to push a longer strand of Ouma’s hair out of his face before planting a chaste kiss on his forehead.

A pleased grin makes its way onto the liar’s face, though the little tint of pink that dusts his cheeks at least doesn’t go unnoticed (or acknowledged, because Ouma is a lying liar who lies and therefore will refute any sign of his _softness_ —so, Saihara revels in the liar’s discreet affection silently). “Hmm, then will you love me even when I’m all old and super wrinkly and force you to listen to my war stories?”

Saihara laughs, shaking his head and dismissing the ‘war stories’ part. “Of course.”

Ouma makes a face that pinches into something wavering between skepticism and elatement. “Shuichi better not be lying to me! I hate liars and lies, y’know?”

The detective’s face softens into something that Ouma has never really been able to read—a gentleness that settles over like honey as it spills out into one large, marigold lake, a relaxed haze that feels so warm it might just envelope everything in its light. He can’t quite place his finger on it, but it’s something in there, in that look, that accompanies the joy that arises in his chest.

Saihara’s hands are soft. They’ve always felt like that, lacking calluses and blisters. Hands that have spent their days flipping through papers and creeping over the spines of old novels. Hands that haven’t had to climb up rusting fences or snag small bits of food and trinkets under the cover of night. No, nothing of that sort. They’re still soft even as they trail down and come to cup the upper crook of Ouma’s neck, fingers splayed out to reach both his jawline and his cheeks.

“I promise I’m not lying.” Just like his hands, Saihara’s lips are soft too when they meet his. And though Ouma may always tease his husband for so easily melting into the small touches of affection and butterfly kisses they share throughout the days, he’s the exact same way. “I’ve been telling you that for ten years,” Saihara says in between each short break from the kisses, “do you need me to tell you for another ten years?”

Ouma smiles against his lips. “Nishishi, I think you’ll need to tell me for another _hundred_ years.”

“A hundred?”

“Mm, you’re right; a hundred isn’t nearly enough. Five hundred years, tops.” 

“ _Five_ hundred?”

“Oh? A thousand then?”

It’s when Saihara lets out a small bout of laughter that they break away, their foreheads resting against one another. “Alright, deal. One thousand years.”

The detective rises to his feet slowly, pulling Ouma up with him. They don’t speak anymore as Saihara fixes the undone tie dangling from his husband’s collar.

There are a lot of things that everyone find guilty pleasures in; embarrassing, quirky, cheesy, strange things that so many people find refuge in. Everyone’s guilty of a few, hell, even Ouma knows some of Saihara’s are things like the rush of caffeine after staying up all night or buying a new mystery book to read in his free time.

But as for Ouma, his guilty pleasures are the little things that only someone with a constantly-scheming and constantly-thinking mind like his might really pay any attention to—the times where the sunlight streams in at just the right angles and turn Saihara’s grey eyes into an old, faded gold. The moments where he walks in and finds both Kimiko and Saihara passed out together on the couch with a book in between them. The days when all three of them sit at the table and eat whatever breakfast Saihara has made while Ouma entertains their daughter with old fables from long ago. The instances where sometimes Ouma can’t help but wonder if his years spent with DICE somehow gave him a skill for dealing with kids because it’s so _easy_ to talk to Kimiko and hearing her laugh is strangely so adoring.

His guilty pleasures are the fragments in time where their world is only their lives—in between the pages of Saihara’s novels, underneath the endless piles of drawings Ouma doodles with their daughter, on top of the towers that Kimiko builds with her toys. The flickers of life that remind him that he’s _home_.

“Tou-chaaan?” a little voice chirps, followed up by a tuft of black hair poking out past the doorway. “ _Oyajiiiii_?”

“Did _you_ teach her to call me that?” Saihara’s head snaps from his husband to look at his daughter, and then back at his husband again.

“Nope! I have no-ho-ho idea what you’re talking about, Shumai! But hey, at least you already knew she was talking about _you_ and not me when she said that!” Ouma denies easily, stepping away with a dramatic shrug.

“Uh-huh, sure.” Saihara shakes his head and adjusts the cuff to his suit. “We should get going now. The banquet will be starting soon. Kimiko, are you ready to see _Oba_ and _Oji_ again?”

She nods enthusiastically, though her demeanor changes on a dime even as Checkers scampers to her feet with his tail wagging. “But why can’t I go with yoooouuu?”

“It’s an event for my work, Kimiko. I’m afraid you—” Saihara’s _logical_ explanation is cut short by Ouma.

“—‘Cause the whooole time there, it’ll be nothing but doing boring old adult stuff, like taxes! And counting how many staples are in the pamphlets!”

Their daughter’s face wrinkles in distaste upon hearing his words. “Eww, that’s boring!”

Saihara swears he nearly gets whiplash from how similar Ouma and Kimiko are sometimes—even if they aren’t biologically related.

“Yup! Totally! That’s why you don’t wanna go. Because it’ll be tooootally lame,” Ouma affirms confidently.

They watch as she skitters out of the room with another huff of disgust for anything remotely related to something that doesn’t require a confetti launcher or something similar. Ouma laughs once she’s gone, watching as Checkers (who apparently also has a favoritism for her) follows after her.

“. . . Taxes and counting staples? Really, Kokichi?”

“Heyyyy, it worked! You should be more appreciative of my quick thinking, y’know?” Ouma sees the detective open his mouth to protest, but continues to speak before he gets the chance to. “Non non! Hush!”

Saihara merely shakes his head and takes Ouma’s hand in his own, leading the both of them out of the room and into the hallway as they leave behind the scrapbook on the floor to clean up later. Kimiko is sitting on a chair of the room down the floor, and upon seeing them, she scrambles to her feet and hurries over to their sides.

The liar wanders over to the doorway and grins. “C’mon, kiddo. I’ll let ya pick what songs to play in the car on the way to their house!”

“Are you bribing her favoritism?”

“Heyyy! _I_ wasn’t the one she called _‘oyaji’_ so I’m clearly doing _something_ right!” Ouma remarks, sticking his tongue out in defense.

Saihara hears Kimiko snort and stifle a giggle beside them. Over her shoulder, she throws a wave towards their dog, who simply wags his tail again in joy. After all, they’ll only be gone for a few hours. Besides, they’re all pretty sure Checkers enjoys having the whole house to himself (according to all the dog hair that mysteriously appears on the furniture every time they’re out of the place, at least).

And that’s how the three of them start off their day—listening to all types of western pop songs at the insistence of their daughter until they end up singing along together (read: Saihara is dragged into it by his mentally-nine-year-old husband and his _actually_ nine-year-old kid) as they drive to the detective’s aunt’s and uncle’s place to drop off Kimiko for the time being.

Saihara and Ouma may be twenty-seven years old, but it hasn’t taken them twenty-seven years to find a place to call home—they’ve found that their home has been the most unlikely of places: on the back of runaway freight trains and on the inside of trains that stretch across Japan’s cities, in the abandoned warehouses once called headquarters and all the places they stayed at during their lifetimes, anywhere and everywhere, so long as it’s somewhere where they can be at one another’s side. And quite frankly, _that_ is by far the best home they could have ever asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ; “insistence of saihara making him miso soup everyday for the rest of their lives” — asking someone to make miso soup for them for the rest of their lives is a traditional japanese way of proposing <3
> 
> ; 光陰矢の如し。— (literal transl.) :: “time flies like an arrow”
> 
> ; ouma’s last name literally translates to “horse **king** ” & saihara’s first name also can translate to “one **lord** ” so i named their adopted daughter kimiko which can translate to “ **empress** child”
> 
> ; _oba_ = aunt // _oji _= uncle // _tou-chan_ = something close to “daddy” // _oyaji_ = something close to “old man”__
> 
> ; opening words c/o “home” by phillip phillips 
> 
> ; yeah i know i kept calling them by different last names even after they got married LMAO i just didn’t know how to address/differentiate them otherwise without using their first names narratively sooo^^
> 
> ; nouveau départ — (french) :: “fresh start”

**Author's Note:**

> your support is always appreciated <33 thank you for reading !!


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